


Caught in a Deadlock

by HLine



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: M/M, hopefully i will, not sure when and if I'm gonna continue this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28817211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HLine/pseuds/HLine
Summary: He knew all of the Decepticon High Command. How could he not, after being the Prime’s CMO for so long? But he had learned them over the course of the war, slowly adding names to the list of mech’s he wouldn’t mind randomly deactivating.This one, though, he knew from before. Before everything had gone to Pit. Even with his face covered entirely by a white and gold battlemask, he knew this mech.“Deadlock.” The name spilled from his lips without any conscious input from his processor.
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Ratchet
Comments: 30
Kudos: 113





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during season 2's episode 'Triage'.

Ratchet shifted in his seat as Wheeljack began to guide the Jackhammer down towards the mesa that the Iacon relic was supposedly hidden in. The other mech glanced over at him, raising an optic ridge. “Something the matter, sunshine?”

Ratchet didn’t bother correcting Wheeljack on the subject of his name, though he did shoot the other mech a glare. “I am just surprised that we haven’t encountered any Decepticons. They’re supposed to be going after these relics as well.”

Wheeljack hummed low in his throat, his eyes back on the display. “Could just be that my flying is better than theirs,” he suggested. His tone, however, said that he didn’t believe a word of what had just come out of his mouth. “If you wouldn’t mind handling the drilling, though, I’m willing to keep an optic out for fraggers trying to sneak up on us.”

“That would probably be wise,” Ratchet agreed. He hadn’t been pleased when Optimus had assigned him Wheeljack as an in-all-but-name bodyguard, but now he couldn’t help but be a little grateful for his friend’s foresight. This quiet had his protoform prickling.

The hydraulics of the ship groaned as they landed on top of the mesa. Stepping out into the golden light of Earth’s afternoon with the drill that Wheeljack had had packed away in one hand, Ratchet examined the scanner that he had cobbled together before leaving. 

Behind him, Wheeljack followed, his mouthguard already engaged and swords out.“Ain’t seeing any ‘Cons, Doc,” he said. “How’s the scanner doing?”

The scanner trilled. 

Relief filled his frame at the positive signal. “It’s doing well.” Tucking the object away into his subspace, Ratchet aimed the point of the drill at the rock below. He may have only been out of the base for a few hours but it was nerve-wracking, depending on the humans to operate the groundbridge. If something went wrong and Prime and the others ended up stuck somewhere on this planet…he wouldn’t be able to bear the guilt. “It’s not far below us. We should be able to —”

The sound of an engine echoed through the sky. Ratchet’s head snapped up automatically, searching the cloudless blue, but he didn’t see anything.

“Vehicons,” Wheeljack said from behind him, his voice low. There was the sound of swords being drawn. “Looking the wrong way, sunshine — we got grounders.”

Ratchet’s spark thumped as he scanned the mesa top, just in time to to see the first vehicons pulling themselves over the lip of the cliff. Hastily, he began to transform his servo into a blade, only for Wheeljack to place his own on top of his arm. 

“Focus on the relic,” he said. “This ain’t right; normally they’d send fliers. But I don’t see any. I want us out of here ASAP.”

“You —”

“Will keep these bots off of you.” Wheeljack stepped in front of him, blocking his view. “The faster you get the thing the faster we’re out of here.” 

Ratchet clenched his denta but he couldn’t argue. He’d been paired with Wheeljack for precisely this reason, after all. With a frustrated grunt, he turned on the drill. 

Wheeljack roared as he threw himself into battle. 

Soon, the all-too-familiar sounds of battle filled Ratchet’s audials, nearly drowning out the sound of the drill grinding its way through the rock. He’d given up on Primus too long ago to pray, but Ratchet focused on the drill’s display, willing it to go faster. He doubted that Megatron would have only sent one small group of vehicons after one of the relics. 

It wasn’t long before he was proven right. The rev of engines had him looking up and clenching his jaw as more vehicons appeared on his other side, their weapons raised. Behind him there was a roar and then another vehicon slammed into them like one of the humans’ bowl balls, but already Ratchet could hear the growl of yet more engines echoing up through the empty air. 

“Doc, how much longer before we got that relic!?” Wheeljack shouted. A grenade sailed through the air and bounced into a new group of enemies, sending them flying off the edge of the mesa and into another group that had reached the top. 

Ratchet ignored the roar of the grenade going off and bit his lower lip. The drill was vibrating hard in his hands from how fast it was going, the display showing that they were already halfway there — but he could hear the strain in Wheeljack’s voice. Vehicons or not, he was only one mech. “I’ve got it going as fast as it can!” If they hadn’t been under attack, Ratchet would have honestly been impressed by how far it had already gotten. “We’re halfway there!”

There was a loud grunting noise and a crash. “Once it’s done, grab it and get on the ship! I’ll follow you!”

Three quarters of the way. Ratchet could hear the whine of Wheeljack’s fans as he spear-tackled a Vehicon that had been trying to sneak up on him. The shriek of metal dragging against the rock of the mesa had Ratchet forcing down his medic protocols. The engines of even more incoming Vehicons thrummed like thunder in the sky.

Finally, the drill reached the relic. Eagerly, Ratchet engaged the retrieval protocols, dragging the container to the surface so quickly it was hot to the touch as he picked it up. “Wheeljack, I have it!” he shouted excitedly, standing back up from where he had knelt down to pick it up. “I —”

Then he stopped. The wild grin that had been spreading across his face faded. 

He hadn’t noticed, focusing so intently on the drill and getting the relic back up to the surface. He hadn’t noticed the sounds of battle fading, being overtaken by the drone of thrumming engines. With the chaos of the fliers and the grounder vehicons coming to the mesa in dizzying numbers, he hadn’t noticed a single, real Decepticon slipping into the crowd surrounding him and Wheeljack. 

Ratchet felt like he was about to purge his tanks as he looked at the Decepticon standing in front of a kneeling Wheeljack, outlined by the planet’s fiery sunset. 

He knew all of the Decepticon High Command. How could he not, after being the Prime’s CMO for so long? But he had learned them over the course of the war, slowly adding names to the list of mech’s he wouldn’t mind randomly deactivating. 

This one, though, he knew from before. Before everything had gone to Pit. Even with his face covered entirely by a white and gold battlemask, he knew this mech.

“Deadlock.” The name spilled from his lips without any conscious input from his processor.

Black and white and gold gleamed in the dying light of the sun as the Decepticon cocked his head to one side. “Doctor Ratchet.”

Ratchet had to repress a shudder at the familiar sound of that voice; smoother now than when he had first heard it, but still warm and friendly and caressing his audials. 

He wasn’t sure that he’d succeeded.

Tightening his grip on the relic container, he took a step towards Deadlock, pushing down the memories that threatened to overwhelm him. Of a time when the mech in front of him didn’t have a battlemask, just an open and honest expression —

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he forced out, trying to focus on the words spilling from his vocalizer. “Last I heard, you went down over Centaris VII.”

The head tilted lazily in the opposite direction. “Disappointed, Doctor?” 

A strange mix of bitterness and resignation filled his voice, and Ratchet found that he couldn’t force the truth out. That he’d simultaneously been relieved and wanted to weep.

Deadlock chuckled, and the battlemask and visor that had been hiding his face retracted, revealing an incongruously pretty face that had Ratchet muting his vocalizer to keep from letting out a devastated noise.

With his delicate cheek struts and large, expressive gold eyes that didn’t need the black lining to catch the onlooker’s attention, he looked more like one of the famous racers that had dominated the airwaves back before the war started than Megatron’s top killers. He looked like the mech Ratchet had imagined he could be, all those vorns ago. The sadness in those eyes just emphasized that impression as he looked Ratchet over. “Well. I can’t say that I blame you.”

A gurgling noise came from Wheeljack and Ratchet tore his attention away from Deadlock, thankful for the protocols that made it impossible for him to ignore an injured mech. 

It was immediately clear why Wheeljack wasn’t fighting back; on his knees with a knife blade shoved deep into his throat, Deadlock’s other hand on top of his helm and keeping him still, how could he? Any movement risked having the knife tearing out of him and taking most of his fuel lines with it.

The black hand that was wrapped around the handle of that knife flexed, readjusting its grip on the blade. “Well. Straight to business then I guess.”

Ratchet straightened, clutching the relic a little closer to his chassis. “No —”

“Doctor. Ratchet.” Deadlock’s voice was filled with a strange tenderness. “I got a knife in your friend’s throat. I don’t want to do this. Don’t make me have to.”

“I can’t give you one of the relics.” The words were thin, just on this side of staticky. Ratchet could barely force them out. 

Deadlock cocked his head. “Why not?” His voice was terribly gentle. His expression only more so. “I don’t like hurting you, but I have my orders. If you give me the relic, it’s over. You can leave with your ally and get him the medical attention he needs. I’m in command here — I’ll make sure no one stops you.”

It sounded so reasonable. Ratchet’s processor was screaming at him to take the deal. Even with the knife being kept in place in Wheeljack’s neck it would be all too easy for it to slip and slice open one more fuel line. 

Wheeljack, however, had his own views on the topic.

“L-liar,” Wheeljack choked out, his vocoder blatting static. “Y-you think Ratch is d-dumb enough to believe a stinking c-Con? B-believe _Deadlock_?”

The warmth disappeared from Deadlock’s face like it had never been there as he turned his head to look down at Wheeljack. His hand flexed, tightening on the knife handle. 

Ratchet’s fans stuttered and he took a step forward towards them before he could stop himself. “Don’t —”

Deadlock’s attention snapped back to Ratchet and thankfully, his hand didn’t move. 

Ratchet had to cycle his vocoder several times before he could speak again. “Don’t. He’s just talking slag.”

The corners of Deadlock’s mouth twitched. He lifted his servo from Wheeljack’s helm and held it out. “The relic, Doctor. And then you can collect this idiot.”

It hurt, obeying the command. Coming closer, too aware of the vehicons watching, Ratchet could already feel the guilt eating away at his spark. But he couldn’t attack. Not now. Not Deadlock.

Not Drift.

Clenching his denta, he held out the container. Deadlock thankfully took it without saying anything, instead letting go of the knife and stepping back, cradling the relic in the crook of his arm. “Roll out,” he called to the vehicons. “Head back to the Nemesis. No detours.”

The vehicons obeyed in lieu of replying. Deadlock didn’t move to follow however. Instead he stood there, still outlined in the sunset, and watched as Ratchet pulled one of Wheeljack’s arms over his shoulder and helped him to his pedes. Risking a glance out of the corner of his optic, a shudder rolled down Ratchet’s backstrut when he saw those optics were molten as they followed his movements. 

“D-doc —” Wheeljack’s chin was streaked with his own energon, and his vocalizations crackled with static. He leaned heavily on Ratchet, clearly trying to keep his voice low. “D-doc tell me you have a plan —”

Not low enough. “His plan is to get you back to your base and start working on getting that knife out of you,” Deadlock interrupted. His gaze was still molten but his voice was chilly as he spoke. “Be glad that you have such a good medic. Not many still around would be able to help you with that.” With a snap, the battlemask and visor were back in place, hiding the Decepticon’s face like those soft, concerned looks had never happened. Turning, he began to walk towards the container. “You can leave. I meant what I said. None of the vehicons will pursue you.”

Wheeljack’s optics rolled in his head, and despite the fact that he couldn’t move his head enough to actually see him straight on Ratchet could feel his gaze boring into the side of his helm. “Y-you can’t —”

Ratchet didn’t reply, instead concentrating on wheeling the two of them around so that they were facing the ship. 

“Ratchet!”

Ratchet grimaced as a spray of energon streaked across his face. “Stop talking,” he said, more harshly than intended. His pedes clanked on the ramp into the Jackhammer. 

“Doc — Ratchet — talk to me -”

Ratchet didn’t answer. Gently setting Wheeljack down in the passenger seat of the ship, he took a hold of the controls and started up the engines.

“RATCHET —”

The engine rumbled and they lifted off. “Later, Wheeljack,” Ratchet finally forced out as they passed over the mass of still-living vehicons. Through the windshield, Deadlock was a beacon of white and gold and black, his face clearly turned towards them. Ratchet’s protoform prickled. “You need surgery for that knife, and the rest of the team needs to know that Deadlock has arrived on Earth.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Whoo!” Miko cheered as they walked through the groundbridge, punching the air. “Did you see Knock Out’s face? Not so pretty now, is it?”

Jack couldn’t keep from grinning at the girl as the dry air of the desert washed over him. Back home, without any trouble. “And we got the relic,” he said, his voice thick with satisfaction. 

“Had fun on your trip?” Agent Fowler leaned back from the terminal he was hunched over with a dry look at the skipping Miko. 

Arcee smirked and held up the Phase Shifter. “Success is the most fun of all, don’t you know?” she asked rhetorically, looking around the room. “We the first back?”

“Yup,” Fowler said. “You go-getters, you.”

Bumblebee made a mock-modest buzz.

Climbing the stairs up to where Raf was sitting, Jack sat down beside him, peering at his laptop. “Keeping track of everybody?” he asked. 

“As best I can,” Raf said. The younger boy’s brow was furrowed in worry. “Everyone’s been pretty quiet though. Optimus needed a base evacuated down in Antarctica, and Bulkhead’s been checking in every once in a while, but I haven’t heard anything from Ratchet and Wheeljack.” He chewed on his lower lip.

“Nothing? Not even Ratch complaining about Wheeljack?” Miko asked, flopping down on Raf’s other side. “That’s a surprise.”

“Well, maybe they’re too busy getting the relic to talk,” Jack suggested. 

“Ratchet? Too busy to complain?” Arcee said, wandering over to them. She scoffed fondly. “I doubt it. More likely they’re on their way back and are just trying to avoid anyone listening in.” She leaned against the platform, resting an arm next to Miko. “Remember, they’re both soldiers. They know the importance of radio silence, especially when we’re on the same planet as Soundwave.”

There was a loud grinding noise. All of them looked up, and Arcee smirked. “That’s probably them,” she said. Gently, she patted Raf’s back with the tips of two of her fingers. “See? Nothing to worry about.”

Jack leaned back on one arm, twisting his body to look towards the doorway that lead out of the main room. The freight elevator wasn’t often used — Jack had only learned of its existence the first time Wheeljack had visited the base proper — and something about the noise it made sent shivers up his spine. 

There was a low boom, and then the incongruously-cheery ding of the doors opening. And then —

Jack stiffened, and out of the corner of his eye he could see the others doing the same. There was only one recognizable set of footsteps coming down the hall. One set of footsteps — and the unmistakable sound of metal dragging on concrete. 

Ratchet emerged from the shadows of the corridor with one of Wheeljack’s arms slung over his shoulders, holding the other Autobot up on his feet. And streaked down Wheeljack’s front, splattered over Ratchet’s hands and arms and chest —

“Wheeljack!” Miko shrieked. She bolted to her feet and ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“Ratchet!” Arcee said, also rushing forward, Bumblebee hot on her tail. 

Jack was on his own feet and couldn’t remember when he’d gotten up. The handrail of the stairs dug into his stomach as he leaned over it, trying to figure out where all of that energon had come from. 

And energon it was. Nothing else had that neon blue glow, but he couldn’t see —

There. In Wheeljack’s neck, something was sticking out. Ratchet was ignoring Arcee’s shouted questions as he gently turned the two of them towards the small medbay he had set up when the object caught the light and Jack realized what it was.

A knife handle. There was a knife in Wheeljack’s neck — 

“Who did this?” Arcee was asking, hovering over the two of them as Bumblebee buzzed frantically. 

Ratchet stopped. His eyes were shadowed, and he didn’t look at them. “I’m afraid…that Deadlock is not as dead as we all believed.”

Silence fell over the base. Arcee’s head jerked back like she had been punched. Bumblebee’s door-wings stiffened. Even Miko’s cries of distress petered off as she looked up at the Autobots. 

“He snuck up on us,” Ratchet continued quietly after a moment. “I’m sorry. He got the relic.”

Arcee didn’t reply.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Ratchet said, still not looking at anyone, “I’m afraid Wheeljack still needs treatment.” Turning, he started back towards the medbay.

“Wait, Ratchet! Is Wheeljack going to be okay?” Miko called after him. She made an aborted attempt to follow him only to be picked up by Bumblebee.

The golden mech whirred at her, shaking his head. 

Arcee was looking down at the ground, her hand covering her mouth. 

A long moment of silence filled the room. Jack looked between the two mech, trying to figure out why the two of them looked so worried. Bumblebee put Miko back with him and Raf, and then looked silently at Arcee, who was still staring at the ground. 

Finally, Raf broke the silence. “Um,” he said from where he was sitting, the laptop on his lap completely forgotten, “w-who’s Deadlock? And why is everyone so scared of him?”

Arcee exchanged a meaningful look with Bumblebee, and then came back towards them, crouching down so that her face was level with them. “Deadlock…” she began, and then sighed. “Some mechs are frightening because of their cruelty. Others are frightening because of their strength, or their tactical ability. Deadlock — Deadlock hasn’t been active for half of this war. We thought he died in a battle over Centaris VII. But despite that — there’s no single Decepticon warrior who has managed to overtake his sheer personal frame count, except for maybe Megatron. Maybe.”

Jack looked worriedly over towards the room Ratchet had disappeared into. “So…not good news that he’s back then.”

“No.” Arcee stood up, pursing her lips. “It’s pretty much the opposite of good news.” She rubbed her face again. “Primus, I remember how we celebrated when we heard he was gone. Cybertron was still alive then, we all thought that we’d just gotten that much closer to victory…”

Bumblebee buzzed worriedly, placing a hand on her back. 

She shrugged it off. “We need to tell Optimus,” she said. “Is he back yet?”

Fowler, who had been listening but was still at his post by the main computer, shook his head. “Not yet. Last I checked he was still waiting for the base in Antarctica to clear out.” He looked at them carefully. “Tell me honestly — is this Deadlock a big enough threat that he has to know right now?”

Arcee pursed her lips again. “No,” she said after a moment. “We’ll definitely be telling him as soon as he’s back though. If you want to warn your people as well, that’s probably a good idea. Deadlock was at least tangentially involved in a few planetary cleanses. I don’t think they have enough forces for that but I don’t know how Megatron’s processor works.”

“Understood,” Fowler said. He looked towards Jack and the others. “In the meantime —”

“Oh no,” Miko said, cutting him off and narrowing her eyes. “I know that look. I’m not going anywhere until Wheeljack’s out of surgery.” She turned and began to stomp down the stairs. “Wreckers don’t abandon Wreckers!”

“Miko —” Jack called after the girl. He understood how she felt but at the same time, hearing all that from Arcee had wrecked his own buzz from a successful mission pretty badly. Frankly, the idea of going home and digesting all of that was sounding like a pretty good idea. Maybe he’d hug his mom too. 

God, killed more people than possibly Megatron? How was that even possible? Megatron certainly hadn’t seemed to think much of trying to kill their planet — and Arcee had said that he’d killed them personally?

Yeah, a hug from his mom sounded really good right now.

A loud beep came from Rafael’s laptop. Rafael, who’s head had been swiveling between him and Miko’s retreating form, jumped. “Oh!” he said, rushing back to the object, “that must be Bulkhead! Miko, you don’t wanna miss him coming home, do you?”

Miko stopped and looked back over her shoulder. The rings of the groundbridge hummed, warming up. “Mmm,” she grumbled, turning and crossing her arms over her chest. “I guess not. Someone’s gotta explain what happened to Wheeljack.”

Jack let out a soft sigh of relief. He didn’t want to have to deal with Miko bugging Ratchet during a surgery. “Don’t forget,” he said, walking down the stairs, “we have to tell him about our mission too!”  
Miko had pressed her lips together tightly, but they softened a little into a smirk at that. “Yeah, he’s gonna love hearing about how we wrecked Knockout’s paintjob!”

The groundbridge was humming at full power. And then —

The sound of an explosion. And the heavy frame of Bulkhead came flying out of the groundbridge and landed heavily on the floor of the base, making it shake.

* * *

Before he stepped out of his ship and into the Nemesis, Deadlock took a moment to cycle air through his frame and wait for his servos to stop trembling. 

Ratchet. Ratchet was here. The medic that had saved his life, tried to save his soul — he was here, on this planet.

On the one servo, it was hardly a surprise; Optimus Prime was apparently here as well, why wouldn’t his CMO be here too? Of course a Prime would keep their personal medic close. On the other, though, what were the fragging chances — 

It was always like this. Somehow, it was always a surprise to see the other mech, after everything that had happened. That day back in Rodion, when Turmoil had found him again — the way that day had gone, how Ratchet hadn’t even been able to look at him by the time Turmoil was done driving home the message of precisely how much Ratchet treating his merchandise without his permission was appreciated — that had felt like the end of an era. The end of a dream, that Deadlock had been woken from violently. Mechs like Ratchet weren’t supposed to exist outside of dreams, anyways, and away from him it was so easy to dismiss the memories of kind hands and full cubes of energon and the hope of a better future for the guttertrash mech Drift. 

A ping to his internal comms abruptly jerked Deadlock from his reminiscing, reminding him of the other promise of a better future he dreamed of. *This is Deadlock.*

*Acknowledged.* Soundwave was as taciturn as always. A datapacket containing directions to the bridge was sent to him. *Megatron: Waiting for you. Other teams: unsuccessful.*

Despite knowing that Soundwave couldn’t see it, Deadlock smirked. *Megatron: About to get some good news.*

The glyphs for approval were sent through to him, and then the line was cut. 

Getting up from his seat, Deadlock pushed the thoughts and memories of Ratchet to the back of his mind. He’d already checked the artifact container and removed the relic inside, setting off a few brutal shots of sound into the rock around them to make sure it wasn’t some trick. Not that he thought Ratchet would play with someone’s life like that but the Autobots that put the relic there in the first place —

Nope. Damn it. He was thinking about Ratchet again. 

Once again, Deadlock pushed down the memories. 

The Nemesis was as dimly-lit and forboding as ever as he entered the ship proper. Walking down the hallway leading to the ship’s bridge, it was like nothing had changed in the intervening centuries since he’d been stuck on Centaris VIII with the Circle of Light.

With the cult. The weird cult. Stuck on Centaris VIII with that weird cult. 

The reproachful face of Wing rose in his mind and Deadlock shoved it down ruthlessly. He’d been on that damned planet for way too long. 

The door to the bridge hissed open, and the familiar roar of Megatron’s voice washed over his audials.

“— AN ORGANIC. VEHICLE. STOPPED YOU.” 

It took a moment to recognize the mech that Megatron was looming over, he was so scratched and battered. Then he spoke. “I was doing just fine, if that Insecticon had been able to do its damned job and keep those Autobots distracted —”

“Knock Out?” Deadlock couldn’t keep the amusement from his voice.

The much-battered form of one of the few remaining Decepticon medics stiffened at his voice, slowly turning around. “D-deadlock?” 

“Ah yes, Deadlock.” The rage vanished from Megatron’s voice in an instant. Straightening, he grinned. “I do hope that you have better news than the rest of these failures.” He shot a pointed look at the others in the room.

Soundwave was at his usual station, not even looking away from the screen — aware that that pointed comment was not aimed at him. The others, however…

There were so few, was the first thought to cross Deadlock’s processor. He slapped on a smirk to hide his discomfort. Looking over the room, he could only see three other Decepticons besides him and Megatron. 

The command bridges of their ships used to be packed. 

“I do,” he said, pulling the relic from his subspace and waggling it. “Sends out some pretty nasty sonic waves.”

“Good. Did you encounter any Autobots?” 

Deadlock shrugged. “Two,” he said. “They retreated once a put a knife in one of their throats.”

Megatron sneered. “Typical Autobot weakness,” he said dismissively.

Something twinged in the back of Deadlock’s processor. Discomfort? No. Anger, his old familiar friend. But at what?

Megatron turned away from him before Deadlock could complete that thought, sneering at the rest of the bridge crew, which right now was Dreadwing, Knockout, and a few vehicons. Soundwave was still there but it didn’t take a genius to see that their leader’s contempt wasn’t aimed at them. 

“I wonder,” he said mockingly, “how is it that a mech returned from the dead, not even on this planet for a full cycle, managed to out-perform my so-called inner circle so thoroughly? One would think that he would need a few cycles to return to ‘catch his breath’, as this planet’s organics say.”

Deadlock only listened with one audial as he looked around the bridge again. This couldn’t be all of them, right? He looked over at Soundwave, still placidly looking through the Nemesis’ surveillance data. 

*Hey,* he said over his comms to Soundwave. *Where’s everybody else?*

*Currently present: sum total of Decepticon command on planet.*

Deadlock had to fight to keep his shock off of his face. *Seriously? Even Starscream bit it?*

*Starscream: Has survivability of freighter roach. Still alive. Failed assassination attempts on Megatron lead to exile from Nemesis.*

Okay. That was almost reassuring. Made his fuel pump slow down a bit at least. Still. This was it? This was all there was?

“Knock Out!” 

Megatron’s voice dragged Deadlock’s attention back to him. His leader had apparently finished haranguing the rest of his command and was now gesturing imperiously at him. “Take Deadlock to his quarters. Near the armory would be to his taste I believe. We picked up several guns I believe would be of interest to you.”

Deadlock smirked at him, ignoring the itch at the back of his processor. “I’d love to try them out. Shooting range still in the same place?”

“It is,” Megatron purred. Turning back to the others, he sliced an arm through the air. “Dismissed.”

Well, no reason to stick around.

Inside of his bare quarters, Deadlock put aside his weapons and lay down on his berth, staring at the ceiling. He had gotten a cube of energon on his way here, listening to Knock Out grumble about the buffing he was going to have to give himself, and now took sips from it as he thought, trying to figure out why his processor wouldn’t stop replaying Soundwave’s words from earlier.

Only five of them. There were only five true Decepticons on the planet, and he couldn’t figure out why that was bothering him.

* * *

Several thousand miles away, Ratchet was staring up at his ceiling as well, unable to recharge. Exhaustion tugged at his processor, but somehow it continued to elude him.

Well. Not somehow. He knew damn well why recharge was eluding him. It was because every time he cycled off his optics he saw that figure again, outlined in the setting sun. Heard his low, rough voice offering him escape. How that face lit up when it smiled. How it crumpled as it wept. How that body, no matter how many frame re-fits it went through, looked crumpled on the ground…

His entire relationship with the mech formerly known as Drift flashed across his processor every time he let himself relax. He would need to work until he entered stasis lock at this point —

There was a polite ping through his comms. *Ratchet,* Optimus said, *may I come in?*

Ratchet cycled off his optics for a moment, and then rebooted them. He wanted to say no. But he knew that for the sake of his processor he should say yes. He needed to talk to someone. He needed to talk to his amica endura.

He sent the command for the door to open and sat up in his berth, swinging his legs over the edge and resting his elbows on his knees.

Optimus took the door opening for what it was and entered the room, quickly crossing the space between the door and berth and sitting down beside Ratchet. Folding his servos in his lap, he he didn’t speak right away. Instead, Ratchet could feel his optics against his face, searching for something. Waiting for him to start pouring his spark out.

Well. That wouldn’t be happening any time soon. Ratchet may have let him in but he would need some more time before he was ready to speak. 

So they sat in silence for several minutes, until Optimus broke under the weight of his own concern. “Arcee told me that you encountered a certain mech while attempting to retrieve a relic,” he said gently.

Ratchet gritted his denta. “I know she told you his name. Say it.”

Optimus cycled a vent. “You saw Deadlock.”

The name hung in the air, oddly solid.

Ratchet looked down at his servos. “Yes.”

They were silent for a long time afterwards. Ratchet had never told anyone the full story about what had happened at his clinic down in the Dead End, but Optimus — Orion at the time — had more pieces than anyone else. 

“I cannot imagine that that was easy…” Optimus began slowly, and the dam broke inside of Ratchet with a roar.

“I mourned him! Even after everything he had done, I mourned him!” he snapped down at his hands. “When I heard that he’d gone down over that planet I mourned him and was relieved at the same fragging time, and now he’s fragging back and still looking at me the same way like I’m — like I’m Primus to him! Like nothing ever changed between us!” His servos flexed, curling into fists. “And the worst thing is — the worst thing is that for a second, I was happy to see him there. To see that he wasn’t dead.”

A large servo covered his own, and Ratchet looked up into his amica’s face. “Ratchet,” he said softly.

“I shouldn’t have been happy, Optimus,” Ratchet said. His throat felt raw. “Not when he’s killed so many Autobots.”

“One cannot control one’s feelings, only one’s actions.” Optimus placed his other hand on Ratchet’s back and pulled him in closer.

Ratchet didn’t resist. Before the war, they had frequently hugged and cuddled; once Orion had risen to become Optimus, however, Ratchet had pulled away, feeling like he was flaunting his relationship when he did so. Then the war had broken out, and it had felt even more inappropriate, doing that with his direct superior. Now, though — he welcomed the warmth of Optimus’ frame and the protection of his arms. 

His processor and spark were spinning, and now he was seeing Deadlock in the sunset even while his optics were on. 

“You are not a traitor for caring for him.” Optimus’ chest plate rumbled beneath Ratchet’s cheek. “You have always been loyal to the Autobot cause in all of your actions. I will not demand that you forget Drift.”

Ratchet dug his fingers into Optimus’ seams. 

Optimus didn’t flinch. “I know all that you have sacrificed over the years, old friend. I will not force you to sacrifice your memories and dreams of who he was and could have been.”

“He would have been great,” Ratchet breathed out, a memory rising up. The first time Drift had helped him save a life. The sweet, goofy smile that had spread across his face, the way he laughed like he couldn’t believe it as he turned to Ratchet and said _“I can’t believe I just saved a life! I can’t stop smiling —”_

Ratchet trembled in his amica’s arms. 

For several minutes they sat there; Ratchet trembling in his Prime’s arms as the memories washed over him, until he finally began to relax, true exhaustion tugging at his limbs and promising recharge.

Before he did, though…

Ratchet pulled back slightly and looked up at the face of his closest friend. “Optimus,” he whispered, “can we…” He let the click of his chestplates unlocking ask the rest of the question.

“Of course, old friend,” Optimus replied, his own chestplates unlocking quietly and pulling back.

Underneath the glow of the Matrix and his friend’s spark, the darkness nipping at Ratchet’s processor didn’t seem quite so thick. Opening his own chest, he sank into the merge with Optimus with relief. He could feel the truth of his friend’s words in the merge, and his faith in him. In return, Ratchet pressed forward his love and appreciation, just as strong as it was millions of years ago when when they were just Ratchet and Orion.

They ended up lying together on his berth, after the merge ended. Ratchet couldn’t bring himself to push Optimus away and pretend that everything was fine. 

In the morning, Ratchet would have to pull himself together. He would probably have to answer questions — he’d seen a curious gleam in Wheeljack’s optics as he sewed his throat back together after stabilizing Bulkhead, and that wasn’t even getting into the human children. 

But tonight, he would let himself rest, and dream of happier times. 


End file.
